Unrequited
by Pullmanlover
Summary: Will's been having nightmares; he needs to distract himself, but he left his book in Jane's room....what will happen? (PG for some content having to do with death, depression, and other things slightly unsuitable for young children)
1. Unexpected

Will was walking along the snowy path of Hunter's Combe, not quite knowing where he was going. He could hear his booted feet crunching on the snow, and could feel his heart beating in his chest. Something was about to happen.... Then, everything went bitter cold, and a hooded figure rose up in front of him, on a horse that was so black it was almost blue, and both radiated malevolence. Will shouted and started to run, but he couldn't escape the huge, pounding hooves of that hellish horse; his breath tore in his throat, and he started to stagger and sway, knowing that he wouldn't be able to run like this for very long.....the horse was gaining—it was almost on him—  
  
Will woke up, a cold sweat prickling on his forehead. Had he shouted aloud? He listened carefully, but no one was awake. He didn't lie back down. The image of those dark figures and their terrible hate was still vivid in his mind. He needed something to take his mind off it. He turned on the light and reached for his book, but it wasn't there. Oh yeah, he thought. I left it in Jane's room. He was about to get up to grab it, but then he sat back down, chiding himself. He couldn't go into Jane's room while she was asleep! What if someone saw him? He could imagine Simon's reaction; he'd be almost purple with rage. He was still very protective of his little sister.  
  
But then....no one was awake. It was a cold night; Jane would almost certainly have the covers up, and he really wanted to read. He'd do it. He slipped out of bed and crept down the hall, as quiet as if he were no more than a shadow or a ghost, and very quietly opened Jane's door, peeping in cautiously to make sure she was decent. Then he opened the door wider, about to pick up his book from her table—  
  
But he stopped. He froze in midstep, struck by the difference sleep made in little Jane Drew. Her straggly dark blonde hair became a cloud of gold in the dim light from the hallway, and her cloudy blue eyes became long- lashed and beautiful when they were closed; and her lips, normally either pursed in disapproval or turned down in anxiety, became full and bright red and soft-looking. He moved away from the little table where his book was, feeling as though his feet were someone else's. As if in a dream again, he moved towards the little bed and bent over, eyes closed in silent reverie, and kissed little 13-year-old Jane Drew, his friend of 4 years, knowing it was hopeless, knowing that in the morning she'd wake up and remember nothing, but needing to find out if his impression was true, needing—  
  
Her eyes were open. He leapt back as if struck by lightning, grabbed his book, and stumbled backwards out of the room, with Jane staring at him the whole time.  
  
He cannoned into his room, shut the door, and leaned against it, closing his eyes, his heart thudding wildly in his throat. What had just happened? What could have possessed him to do that?  
  
_Love_, came a small voice inside his head, but he pushed it away impatiently. No, it wasn't true, it couldn't be—  
  
He sank down into a sitting position against his bedroom door and buried his head in his hands. _It's true_, he told himself. _You know it's true_.  
  
It wasn't a dream and it wasn't a lie. He had just kissed Jane Drew, and he knew he wanted, needed, for it to happen again.  
  
But he knew it couldn't. He knew he would never forget the look on Jane's face as he backed out of the little room. There had been no joy in that face, or even surprise. Just pure horror and shame.  
  
He scrunched himself up on the floor like a baby, trying to make himself as small as possible, trying to squeeze the memory out of his mind. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right. Why should he be in love with someone who hated him? It didn't make sense. He hated everything about his life, he wanted to die, he just wanted to stay on that floor his whole life and die like the rat he was.....  
  
He started to shiver on the cold floor, and, as a child who has resolved to stop breathing must take another breath, was forced to get up and crawl back into bed to get warm. He knew he didn't really want to die. He just wanted his life to be completely different from the way it was.  
  
He scrunched himself up again in the bed, hamsterlike, knowing he would not sleep again that night.  
  
So what do you think? PLEASE R&R! 


	2. Discussions

A/N: Thanks for reviewing, Custardpringle! Here's the new chap, hope you like! More soon!

Will went down to breakfast the next morning with haunted, shadowed eyes. As he'd expected, he hadn't slept again after the night's events. He'd lain there, spread-eagled on the bed, lost in thought, until he heard his mother calling him down to breakfast. He dressed quickly and stumbled into the rough, unfamiliar kitchen of their little vacation house in Cornwall. He sat down wearily and started to stir his food around his plate, trying to make it look more appetizing. It didn't. Occasionally he'd chance a swift glance at Jane, but she was talking in low, urgent tones with Bran, who was sitting next to her. Will stopped looking after that. He didn't want to know what Bran and Jane had to talk about so privately. The noisy warmth and bustle of the kitchen went on around him as he sat there, seemingly frozen and deep in thought, until Simon snapped his fingers in front of his face. He jumped up with a start.

"What was that for?"

"Jane and Bran want to talk to us all."

"A-about what?" asked Will, trying to keep his voice under control. Simon shrugged.

"Dunno. They just said to come up to the bedroom, they wanted to talk to us."

"Oh." Once again, Will didn't want to hear what Jane and Bran had to say. He knew what it was. He didn't want to hear it from her.  
  
But he couldn't hurt her feelings, so he dragged his feet back up the stairs and into the biggest bedroom, where Simon and Barney were already perched calmly on the bed and Jane and Bran were standing in front of it. Will averted his eyes from them. He didn't want to look at them.  
  
Jane cleared her throat. "Bran and I have something to tell you."  
  
Will clenched his teeth and curled his hands into fists. He had to breathe heavily to keep from shouting out. _Bran and I. Bran and I. Bran and I.  
  
_"We've decided......well......" Her cheeks flushed a pale, rose pink. Still Will didn't, couldn't, look up. "We've decided to have a go at......at being a little more than friends. For a little while. Maybe for a long while. We don't know." The flush spread across her face and down her neck.  
  
Will looked over at Simon hopefully. Surely Simon wouldn't allow this. His baby sister having a _boyfriend_? He'd never allow it.  
  
But, to Will's amazement, Simon was looking at Bran with a sort of gruff approval. Barney might have helped if he hadn't been so young. He looked thoroughly disgusted. But, of course, he had no influence over the others.  
  
There might have been more conversation. Will didn't know. He hadn't bothered to listen. The next thing he knew, the room was empty but for one person.  
  
Jane sat down on the bed next to him, looking troubled. "Will.....did something happen last night? Did I dream it? Or were you really in my room?" Will looked up at her slowly. He didn't see the point in lying to her.  
  
"Yes," he said carefully, struggling not to let himself burst out the whole truth. The most important thing was Jane's happiness, not his own. "But.....I'm not sure why I did it. I don't think it really _meant_ anything, Jane. In fact, I'm fairly sure it didn't. I just came in to get my book. Then I stopped. I kissed you. You woke up. That's all that happened."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Quite sure," he said firmly.  
  
"So, it's OK about me and Bran?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Oh, well, that's all right then. I'll see you later, Will!" she said brightly, and bounced out of the room.  
  
Will let out a low whistle of relief. He'd held himself back. No point telling her the truth. It wouldn't change anything.  
  
Then, a small white hand reached down and gripped his shoulder with surprising strength. Will looked up resignedly, and there stood Bran, tawny eyes practically electric with fury.  
  
"Come with me. Now!" he growled.  
  
Will, as he was dragged out of the house, thought that he certainly seemed to be getting a lot of talkings-to lately.

So, what'd you think? Please review, tell me if I got something wrong, could've done something better (not that I am obligated to take your advice, but it is appreciated all the same), if I did something really well, that sort of thing. Just plain "good" is also quite welcome, although boo-ing without a reason is way out-of-line. New chap soon!


	3. Mistakes

Bran dragged Will out the door and across the rough yard, fuming. He knew there was something up between Will and Jane, and, oh, he was going to put a stop to it! Jane might have been too naïve to see it, but he certainly hadn't missed the way Will was looking at her. "It didn't mean anything", yeah, right! And what was this about a _kiss?_ That was something he'd have to hear more about!

Bran knew he was being irrational. After all, they'd only announced their relationship that morning, so really Will hadn't been doing anything wrong the night before. And he really shouldn't have been listening in on Will and Jane's little conversation afterwards anyway. But right now he was too angry to care.

In what seemed like no time at all, they'd reached the top of a hill. Bran threw Will to the ground roughly. He got up slowly and they faced each other.

And Bran almost couldn't do it. The look on Will's face...he'd never seen anyone look so empty. Empty, but with an underlying sense of something Bran couldn't put a name to, something cold and lifeless and utterly without hope. Horrible.

Bran shook himself out of his trance. He'd brought them here. He had to make the first move.

"What's going on between you and Jane?"

It seemed the obvious thing to say.

"Nothing," came the answer, as empty as the face that went with it.

"Bollocks. I saw the way you were looking at her."

It was like a train wreck. Once he'd started, he couldn't stop. Will just kept staring.

"Believe me, nothing's going on. Nothing ever has been or ever will be going on. She wants you."

"Well, it's obvious to me that you _want_ something to be going on."

No way to go back now. Just keep fighting, keep yelling. Maybe it'll all go away.

"And you think I'm actually going to do anything about it? What do you take me for? You used to trust me."

And now Will was shouting, and so was he, and he couldn't go back, and it wasn't going to go away, and he had to answer.

"Well just don't go pity-seeking with Jane, you hear me? You stay away from her!"

"So now you don't trust _her_, eh? You know what, that's even worse! You just have to be right, don't you? You always need someone to be angry with, and if you were wrong, you'd find another reason, and another! Well, you won't this time. _Nothing's going on!!_"

Now Will was turning away, and Bran felt horrible, and he was half-gone, and there were no words to say, no way to apologize.

It was raining. Bran blinked and started slowly back down to the house, Will's words ringing in his ears.


End file.
